


a stream of captures (that's all there is)

by paperfolds (starfolds)



Category: Gaya Sa Pelikula (Web Series), Gaya sa Pelikula (Web Series) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Attempt at Humor, Gen, M/M, Mild Cursing, a story told in five-year intervals, and a whole lot of talking, brief mentions of childhood bullying and homophobia, fluff and mush only, hints of magical realism, recurring meet-cutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29482773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfolds/pseuds/paperfolds
Summary: His memories may be unreliable, but the stack of photos in his hands are not.For the kilometer zero fest prompt: where there exists an old camera which paolo found, a camera that takes different photos instead of the ones you take, because it shows how your soulmate sees their world. what if, one day, while searching for his other pair (ian), the photos turn out as black and white?
Relationships: Ian Pangilinan/Paolo Pangilinan
Comments: 25
Kudos: 98
Collections: Kilometer Zero: A GSP Prompt Fest 2021





	1. &ten

**Author's Note:**

> \+ much love to A who doesn't go here, but went here for me. Thank you for virtually holding my hand while i battled with this story.
> 
> \+ I experimented a lot while writing this fic, and i hope you bear with me ;-;♥
> 
> \+ title from sondre lerche's [that's all there is](https://open.spotify.com/track/0W43rFcGAIPo3ntmblEfWH?si=nLueG_fgS1qZJjdoubf2qg&utm_source=copy-link)

The memory, _when it finally comes back to him_ , is as clear as though it only happened yesterday.

  
  


* * *

It started with Paolo, at age ten, sitting inside the guidance counselor's office for the third time that month. Paolo, waiting for his mother. An impatient school adviser, forced to wait beside him.

_"Hindi ka magiging honor student 'pag 'di mo binago 'yang ugali mo. Kahit na anong talino mo pa, walang saysay 'yan."_

They were just playing _(Gelo got shoved back and forth until he fell on the ground)_. Kids were prone to teasing _("Ano bang pake mo, ha, Paolo? Crush mo 'yang si Gelo 'no?")_. Kids don't mean what they say _("Bakla kayo pareho 'no?")_. Your child has a temper _("Eh ano kung bakla ako, buti nang bakla kesa gago!")_. Your son gets in too many fights _(Paolo took out his bright red metal pencil case and swung it around until it hit Rico on the nose)_. This is enough grounds for expulsion ( _that scream laced with anger and pain and indignation_ ). But we are giving your son one last chance because of his academic standing ( _bloodstains on a_ _pristine school uniform_ ). Let me make this clear: this is your last chance, Paolo ( _"Kaya mo lang pinagtritripan si Gelo kasi mas maliit s'ya sa'yo e!_ "). One more incident of fighting or bullying and you're out (" _What is going on here?! Rico, bakit dumudugo ilong mo?! Ikaw! Paolo Pangilinan! Ano nanaman ba 'tong ginawa mo?! Ma'am Yna, pakisamahan si Rico sa clinic. Mr. Pangilinan and I are going to talk."_ ).

One more offense, and he's out.

One more, and he's out.  
  


_"Last year mo na 'to. Konting timpi pa, anak. Ilang buwan na lang, maililipat na rin kita."_

_"Ma, sorry po. Puro na lang sakit sa ulo—"_

_"Paolo. Kilala kita. Alam ko na nasa tama ka."_

"Bilisan mo, maabutan na nila tayo!"

"Teka—wait. Pao, teka. You know namang—" Gelo wheezed. He bent over to rest his palms on his knees. "You know naman I can't run." He coughed again. Wiping his sweat, he leaned against the empty jeep left parked along the street.

"Sige, sige. Magtago ka na lang d'yan sa loob ng jeep muna. Ililigaw ko sila."

"Wait lang, Pao!" Gelo almost stumbled as Paolo shoved him up the steps of the jeepney. He was small enough that when he curled into a ball on the edge-most seat, he wouldn't be seen from the outside.

Hopefully.

"Ako na bahala, basta d'yan ka muna!" Gelo looked so pale Paolo wished there was more he could do for him. "'Wag ka gagalaw!"

Paolo sprinted to the opposite side of the road before stopping to catch his breath. Right on cue, Rico and his two friends appeared at the corner a mere block away.

_"Alam kong may dahilan ka—at pinaninindigan mo ang dahilan na 'yon." His mother's eyebags were getting darker. He knew she hadn't been sleeping well recently. "Matapang ka, e." He felt her callouses as she cradled his cheek in her hand. "Proud ako sa'yo."_

One more offense, and he would be kicked out.

And so Paolo ran.

He ran and ran and ran.

He apologized every time he bumped into someone. He ducked behind corners and weaved through one jeepney queue after the other. He cut through the nearby market, entering right where the fish stalls started. There it was wet and muddy; those rich kids wouldn't dare follow him inside and risk getting their fancy shoes stained.

"Boy, hingal na hingal ka!"

Paolo took several deep breaths. He found himself in front of a food stall where the smell of oil lingered in the air.

"Mag-tubig ka muna o, baka himatayin ka pa d'yan." The vendor paused in laying out single serve portions of pancit on the lined-up box containers. He then handed Paolo a small glass filled with lukewarm water.

"Gutom ka? Gusto mo mag-merienda? Sampu lang para sa'yo."  
  


_"Pao, today na yung deadline for the quiz booklet. Dala mo na ba yung reply slip?"_

_"Ay, oo. Sorry, nahuli."_

_"It's fine, hindi lang ikaw yung late."_

_The reply slip with his sister's poor imitation of their mother's signature disappeared inside the class treasurer's folder. And along with it, a fifty-peso bill, also from his sister._

_"Eto rin pala yung kulang ko sa class fund." Paolo handed over the last paper bill in his pocket: a twenty._

"Hindi na po, kuya. 'Di naman ako gutom. Salamat po sa tubig." Paolo returned the glass.

And then he began to run again.

He ran until he exited the market.

He ran some more, and made a left and several rights until the streets got narrower and narrower. He didn't care that the alleys were becoming more and more unfamiliar. That the sun was starting to set and he should be finding a jeep to go home instead.

Paolo ran.

He ran out of frustration. And anger. And helplessness.

He ran because he and sister shouldn't have to settle for a barely filling meal just so he can afford to buy a stapled booklet whose only difference with his normal notebook is the school's stamped logo on every page.

He ran because his mom shouldn't have to juggle three different jobs just to send him and his sister to good schools.

He ran because kids like Rico—kids who were so rich and privileged, who had no idea how lucky they were, who never had to worry about canteen prices or buying project requirements or overpriced foundation day shirts—chose instead to bully weak kids like Gelo and gay kids like him instead of just— _studying._

 _Paolo just wanted to study._ But because of all these trips to the guidance office, all these meetings with the principal, all these instances where he could never stand keeping quiet at seeing something wrong—he was going to lose his scholarship. And Paolo knew that they would never be able to afford this private school without it.

Not that he would be able to study well anyway surrounded by so many assholes.

That was a word he learned early on from his classmates: _assholes_.

And his school was absolutely _brimming_ with them.

Paolo finally reached the end of the street. He tripped. His heavy satchel unbalanced him further and so he crashed on the asphalt. Hard. He managed to protect his head in time. Tears came to his eyes as he slowly got up and crawled towards the sidewalk that was thankfully a mere two feet away. He surveyed the damage: pants torn at the knee, and scrapes covered almost the entirety of his right wrist to elbow.

"Yung sintas mo." The voice came from his right.

"Po?" Guilt filled him instantly at raising his voice. An old lady sat on a rocking chair at the house nearby. "Naku sorry po sa istorbo, alis rin po ako agad—"

"Wala naman akong sinabing umalis ka." She snuffed out her cigarette before getting up with the help of a cane. "Itali mo 'yang sintas mo at sundan mo 'ko sa loob. Gamutin natin 'yang sugat mo."

Her voice was raspy and soft yet firm, the kind of voice that didn't take no for an answer. Her hair was so white with no hint of grey. She had a slight stoop, making her not any taller than his shoulder. Her pace was slow, and she didn't even spare a glance to see if he would follow. The screen door closing set Paolo into motion.

No one kept grandmothers like her waiting.

Paolo tied his shoelaces. He got up, and limped through the short path that led to the house. Numerous plants, some twice Paolo's height, filled up every empty space around him. Hesitantly, he pushed open the door.

"He—hello po, 'Nay?"

"Papasok ang lamok."

"Sorry po." Paolo removed his shoes quickly and shut the door behind him. He then slid off his satchel and kicked it to the side so it didn't block the entryway.

"O, bimpo. Sa pangalawang pinto ang banyo. Maghilamos ka at sabunin mo 'yang mga gasgas mo."

"Opo."

Her house was so cluttered. Paolo couldn't help it; his eyes took in all that he could see—and there was _a lot_ : porcelain vases painted with blue designs, some so huge Paolo could probably fit inside them. Cabinets with glass doors lined the wall, filled with all sorts of figurines from Buddhas to angels and bottled ships. Fish paintings. A herd of horses carved from black wood. Books, so many books—some kept on shelves, some stacked on the floor. Artificial bonsai with green gems for leaves, glittering despite the dim lighting. A handful of rusted keys kept inside a frame hung by the bathroom door.

His mother taught him it was rude to stare, but that was all he wanted to do. He'd never seen an actual antique shop before, had only read about them in books, but this house definitely felt like one. So many trinkets he didn't even have a name for, taking up every bit of flat surface.

The bathroom on the other hand was cramped. And very empty, compared to the outside clutter. Only a plain mirror hung on the wall.

Paolo turned on the faucet. The water was freezing. His cheeks stung. It was so cold. His knees felt weak as the exhaustion sunk in. He splashed his face with water again. It was so cold. His entire body felt heavy. He placed his scraped arm under the faucet. The bar of soap barely bubbled, but he continued to rub it on his arm anyway. The water was freezing. It was so cold.

The tear in his pants was so wide it almost exposed his entire knee. His mother would be so disappointed. Sock off, into his pocket. Roll up, up, up. Another faucet was nearer to the floor. The water was freezing. It stung. It was so freezing. Bending his leg hurt. Stretching the skin hurt. The soap hurt. The water was still so cold.

(He was taking so much time. He was being a bother.)

Paolo hung up the towel. Something was scratching at the door. A black cat weaved between his legs as he walked towards the living room.

"Merienda ka muna." Butter cookies. There was an open tin can of butter cookies sitting at the very edge of the low table. Right in front of seven wooden ducks of increasing sizes and seven matching wooden… mini fat bowling pins? painted with girls' faces.

It's like with every blink there was something new to look at, something to decipher and marvel at, and it was so, so distracting.

One bite. This was the best butter cookie he had ever tasted.

"Salamat po."

"'Wag ka na mahiya."

"'Nay… ba't po wala kayong gate? Baka pasukin po kayo ng magnanakaw." _Paolo, 'yang bunganga mo!_

"Sa tingin mo: may magtatangka?"

Paolo swallowed down the rest of the cookie. His throat felt dry. The cat was staring at him. He couldn't see where the clock was, but he could hear it ticking.

"Ako po pala si Paolo."

"Ingga."

_Bakit parang sinabi n'yang 'oo, alam ko'?_

There was another item on the table: something small and black and rectangular. It looked like a camera, but not a kind he'd ever seen before.

It was just within reach.

"Akin na kamay mo."

Paolo glanced up. "Po?"

"Iyang sugat mo."

She held his wrist so lightly he could barely feel it. What he did feel though, was the first touch of the balm on his broken skin. It stung. It burned.

Instinctively, he tried pulling away.

Her grip tightened with surprising strength.

"Tiisin mo."

"Ang sakit po, 'Nay Ingga."

"Sa simula lagi ang pinakamahapdi. Habang tumatagal—"

Paolo wiped the tears that unwittingly came to his eyes. He peered closely at his elbow, and saw the redness already abating.

"—mas madali mo nang kakayanin."

The balm really stung. Paolo winced again.

"Nananadya po ata kayo e." The words slipped out before Paolo could stop them. _Paolo, ano ba! Ba't kasi nagsasalita ka pa!_

"Oo. Sinasadya ko. Masyado ka kasing seryoso." Nanay Ingga didn't laugh, nor did she smile, but Paolo could see the mirth in her eyes.

" _Inay._ "

More balm coated Ingga's fingers. A long gash stretched midway from Paolo's elbow down to his wrist.

"Huminga ka."

Paolo opened his eyes.

"Tuwing nasasaktan ka o naduduwag: _huminga ka._ "

Paolo took a deep breath. He bit his lower lip and watched intently as Nanay Ingga applied the balm in one neat stroke over his wound. It hurt. It stung. It burned. He glanced to the side, his gaze caught by the camera again—something to keep his focus on.

He kept getting drawn to it, for some reason.

"Tapos na. Tuhod mo naman."

"Ilang taon na po kayo, 'Nay?"

"Hulaan mo." She placed her other hand on the rolled up part of his school pants while applying balm on the area outside the gash first.

She looked like she was 90. She looked like 60. She looked 385.

"Twenty-five years old po. _Aray._ 'Nay naman, e!"

She wasn't as gentle applying the balm this time.

"Huwag mo 'kong pinaglololoko."

Paolo reached out for another cookie, but his hand found the camera instead. He lifted it, and accidentally pressed on the shutter. The click was so loud that immediately he felt overwhelming dread. _Hala, hala, hala. Paolo, ano ba!_

"Sorry po, sorry po sa pakikialam." He set down the camera as though burned. He just—it was just that—he can't explain it, not really. He wanted to take it. He still wanted to look at it. There was just something about the camera that—

Nanay Ingga hummed. She tapped on Paolo's thigh to prompt him to unfurl his pant leg. "Kunin mo."

"Po?"

"Kunin mo yung kamera."

Paolo took the camera at her nod of urging and turned it over in his hands. He was so fascinated with it. The camera was so light it felt like it was empty. He mimicked the pose to capture photos, making sure to keep his finger off the shutter this time. Paolo smiled. It fit perfectly between his fingers. Maybe someday he could afford a camera like this for his own.

"Ang ganda naman po nito." He moved to return it to the table.

"Sabi ko kunin mo, 'di ba?"

Paolo stared at her with wide eyes.

"Iyo na. Luma na rin 'yan. Naiwan dati, at ngayo'y hindi na mapagana. Ang sabi, isang gamitan lang daw dapat, pagkatapos ay itatapon na."

His hands tightened their hold on the camera. _Itatapon ka na agad-agad?_

"Pero sino ba tayo, para sabihing wala nang silbi ang isang bagay?"

Paolo shook his head clear. "Naku 'Nay, hindi po—'wag na po. Nakakahiya. At wala rin po akong pangbayad para dito." He held out the camera to Nanay Ingga. She merely stilled him with a hand on his wrist. She tapped his cheek, twice.

"Masasaktan ka. 'Yun ang bayad."

"Po? Masasaktan? Paano pong masasak—"

Nanay Ingga tapped him on the cheek again. "Gusto ko na kunin mo 'yan, dahil tinawag ka n'ya, at napagana mo s'ya. Pero kung ayaw mo, hindi kita pipilitin." She held out her hand with the palm up, waiting.

Paolo looked at her hand. Then the camera. Then her hand again. He doesn't want to leave it behind. He doesn't want to let it go. "Itatapon n'yo na po ba, 'pag hindi ko kinuha?"

(He doesn't want it to be left behind. Again.)

Nanay Ingga didn't answer. She merely waited.

And waited.

Paolo swallowed. He looked at the camera again in his hands: this black rectangular thing made of plastic, with its yellow edges and red button. The lens was dusty; he wiped it clean.

"Ano po ba ibig sabihin nung masakit yung bayad, kasi yung gamot na nilagay n'yo sa'kin masakit na e. Advanced payment na po ba 'yun?"

Nanay Ingga laughed.

Paolo, despite being so confused, felt proud.

"Bata ka pa talaga." She patted him on the knee again then slowly stood up. "Umuwi ka na. Palubog na ang araw."

"Opo. Sige po. Salamat po sa biskwit."

"Hindi ka na nila guguluhin. Kayo pareho."

"Guguluhin po nino?"

"Uwi na, hijo."

Paolo grabbed his satchel and placed the camera inside.

"Bisitahin kita ulit, 'Nay Ingga."

Nanay Ingga merely hummed.

Paolo closed the screen door behind him. He stepped into his shoes and noticed for the first time the doormat his shoes rested on:

_Pahingahan ng mga naiwan.  
_

Four words, embroidered with red stitching on the rug.

_Tuwing nasasaktan ka o naduduwag: huminga ka._

Paolo adjusted his satchel and started to run towards the street. He felt energized. He was in a good mood. He had a smile on his face as he rounded two corners.

_Uy, bakery! Bilhan ko kaya ng tinapay si Nanay Ingga, kahiya naman, s'ya nga may regalo sa'kin._

He reserved a ten-peso coin for his ride home. He bought five pieces of spanish bread with the rest of the money in his pocket. He started jogging back the way he came.

A left here, then a right at the end of the street—

  
  
  


_Teka._

  
  
  


_Sa'n ako papunta?_

  
  
  


Paolo stopped at the middle of the road.

_Ba't ako nandito, e nasa kabilang kanto yung sakayan?_

_Anong oras na, hala. Ang dami ko pa isusubmit bukas._

  
  
  


_Pero bakit nga ako nandito?_

  
  
  


He stared at the bag of spanish bread in his hand.

_Aa. Oo. Bumili ako ng pangbaon ko bukas._

  
  
  


_Ang makakalimutin mo naman, Paolo._

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


"Paolo Victor, dugo ba 'to? May nangyari ba sa'yo?!"

"Ma?"

His mother held his wrists and turned them to look at his arms. She squeezed his shoulders and inspected him from head to toe.

"Namumula yung tuhod mo. Nadapa ka ba?"

"Natisod lang po ata ako, Ma."

"Buti na lang hindi ka na-ano. Kinabahan ako sa'yo. Akala ko naman may tuyong dugo dito sa pants mo. Baka napadikit ka lang kung saan."

"Ay, Ma. Sumabit nga ata ako, baka dun napunit, sorry."

"Napunit? Wala namang punit 'to, a."

  
  


_Wala namang punit talaga, 'di ba?_

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


(With every bump, every tilt, every distracted rummaging—the camera found its way deeper and deeper into the chaotic pit that is Paolo's heavy satchel. It merely stayed hidden, a dark blur that easily escaped Paolo's attention.

It stayed there, waiting.

For two months, it waited.)

* * *

  
  
  


It was a habit, walking around campus with his satchel left open. Paolo had the sense to keep his wallet in his pocket, but everything else got shoved in that bag in one haphazard mess that his mother endlessly chastised him over.

_"Kakalakihan mo 'yan. 'Wag mo sanayin sarili mo."_

Unfortunately, it already was too hard to break away from, even at the age of ten.

Paolo, too engrossed in reading his reviewer while brisk walking, suddenly stopped in the middle of the hallway while deciphering the diagram that got blurred during the photocopying process.

The person running full speed behind him couldn't change direction in time.

"AGGHHH sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry!"

They didn't fall. Only almost, because Paolo had let his satchel go instead so its weight didn't unbalance them.

"I swear I didn't see you—I was just—well, I was trying to get to the library before it closed pero I won't make it na rin ata. Oh well. Wait, let me help—hala ang dami nahulog, sorry po talaga."

The boy set down his own backpack with a heavy thud and knelt down to gather the papers and notebooks that fell out of Paolo's bag.

"'Di, okay lang." Well, not really, but the boy looked sincere and sorry enough that Paolo was immediately convinced he didn't crash into Paolo on purpose.

The boy was straightening up the folded and crumpled papers that Paolo had previously just shoved inside his bag, so he gathered the smaller items that fell out instead. Oh look—there's that pencil sharpener Paolo had been looking for for a week now—

"Uy! Is this a disposable camera?"

"…Ha?"

"Nice, nice! I had one just like this—first camera my mom got me as a Christmas gift like, I dunno, two years ago yata? Kaso I lost it nung nag-Batangas kami e, so I never got to see the photos developed." The boy held out the camera that Paolo for the life of him could not remember why it was there in his bag in the first place. He merely stared at it, confused.

The boy faltered.

"Uhm. Sorry. Sorry. Mom keeps saying na I turn madaldal when nervous. Uhm." The boy carefully tucked in the camera near the inside corner of the satchel instead.

"Hindi, ano. Okay lang. Sorry, medyo lutang. Napalakas ata yung bangga mo sa'kin, e kanina pa naaalog utak ko dahil dun sa exam ko sa math bukas." Paolo shoved the glue and pens and scissors inside the front pockets that he'd never used before. He then noticed the stitching on the boy's polo. _Aa. One batch lower._

The boy reached for his backpack. Paolo stood up as well. The boy kept biting his lip and looking at and away from him.

"May sasabihin ka pa?" Paolo asked bluntly.

"No—well. Ano kasi, uhm. Sorry if weird pero—I just wanted to say… thank you? For standing up to Rico. He's mean to one of my classmates din, e."

"Aa… nakarating rin pala sa inyo 'yun."

"And sabi ni Jean he's going to transfer schools daw? Baka kasi he got scared of you? Basta thank you for being brave."

_Brave? Brave na ba agad 'yun?_

"Ang weird naman na thank you 'yan."

The boy huffed and turned red.

"Basta sorry na lang! And thank you! 'Yun na 'yon!"

"Okay, okay! You're welcome," Paolo laughed.

"Hmph. Whatever." The boy started running again. And Paolo, for some reason, continued to laugh.

"Baka mabangga ka uli, easyhan mo lang!"

The boy turned as he reached the end of the corridor and made quite an ugly face at Paolo, tongue out and scrunched up nose and all that.

_Sayang, 'di ko natanong yung pangalan n'ya. Sabagay. Pa-transfer na rin naman ako._


	2. &fifteen

Until now, currently—Paolo still has no idea why he repressed the memory for ten whole years.

* * *

A week before they moved houses, Paolo found the camera again. It had, somehow, migrated to his closet and was shoved towards the very back, hidden underneath a pile of old clothes he had long outgrown.

_Sa'n nga 'to galing? Hala, Paolo, kinse ka pa lang ulyanin ka na._

Paolo inspected the camera. The counter said '15'. _Uy, ka-edad ko._ The winding mechanism was gritty—he was half-afraid it would break apart in his hands. Apropos of nothing, he took a photo of the packing box in front of him.

_Sinasayang mo naman yung film._

He took a picture of the open closet. He took a picture of the pile of clothes being sorted on the bed. Another snap, for their cat sleeping with her tummy in full view. His desk, and the billowing curtains. His bare feet, and the overturned water bottle by the bed. A selfie attempt.

The camera refused to wind anymore. Paolo shrugged and placed it down on the nearby table. The viewfinder had scratches when he peeked through it. Who knew, if the camera even worked anyway.

Strange, how unbothered he felt over not remembering when and how and where he got this camera.

He left his room and paused at the top of the stairs. "Ma, ano nga po ulit yung pinapabili n'yo sa SM?" Paolo yelled out.

"Bukas mo na daanan pag-uwi mo, 'nak! Tapusin mo na lang muna 'yang kwarto mo," his mother shouted from the kitchen.

"Okay, po!"

Tomorrow it is then.

* * *

Tomorrow found Paolo at _Picture City._

"Kuya, ma-dedevelop n'yo po ba 'to?"

"Wow. Ang luma na nito, a. Mga ten years na akong 'di nakakakita ng ganitong klaseng toy camera." The guy's nametag said BAN.

"Aa. So laruan lang pala s'ya. Akala ko yung parang disposable. So hindi po talaga 'to gumagana?"

"Hindi naman. Toy camera lang in the sense na madaling gamitin at hindi maselan. Hmmm, sagad na at 24 shots… tignan natin." Ban flicked the mechanism to open the camera, and removed the roll of film inside.

"Mahal po ba magpa-develop?"

"150 sa roll na 'to."

"Hala. Ang mahal pala."

"Kung itutuloy mo, I cannot guarantee the results, ha? Napakaluma na nitong film, at since toy camera s'ya na walang flash, baka karamihan dito madilim pa. Basta lower your expectations."

"Grabe ka naman Kuya Ban, parang ayaw mo kumita."

Ban laughs. "Syempre, customer satisfaction! Para rin alam mo yung babayaran mo. So ano? Itutuloy mo ba?"

"Sige na, kuya. Gusto ko rin makita yung kinalabasan e."

"'Yan din talaga ang maganda sa film, lagi may element of surprise. So, eto ang form. Minimum fifty percent downpayment, tapos balik ka after an hour." Ban closed the camera, and Paolo shoved it back inside his bag. The chimes tinkled as the door to the shop opened.

"Kuya Baaaaaaaaaan!"

"Oy! Pangilinan! Sakto, dumating kahapon yung film na gusto mo."

Paolo visibly startled. But all of Ban's attention was focused on whoever it was that entered instead of him.

"Ate Marla texted me, yes! I couldn't come yesterday lang."

Paolo finished writing his contact number. He took out a hundred-peso bill and awkwardly nudged it with the form in Ban's direction.

"Upo ka na muna Ian, tapusin ko lang asikasuhin si kuya." Ban directed a smile towards Paolo, before he tore off the claim slip and slid the film roll inside the envelope. "Kailangan mo ng sukli?"

"Hindi na, kuya."

"Mamaya na yung resibo."

"Ok po, salamat." Paolo turned around, ready to leave.

"Hanapin ko lang sa loob yung rolls mo Ian, teka."

"It's fine, kuya. No rush."

Paolo couldn't help it; he snuck a gaze at this boy who came in and apparently shared his surname.

He was also strangely—surprisingly, familiar.

'Ian' looked up and squinted at Paolo.

Paolo frowned back. _Naghahanap ba ng away 'to?_

"…Do I know you."

"Aba malay ko sa'yo." Paolo moved to push the door open. _Weird._

"Disposable camera guy!"

"Ha?!"

"Sorry! Ano—I'm bad with names kasi. Pero you used to go to St. Jude's din, right? Higher batch ka. You had that disposable camera in your bag."

"Aa. Naalala ko na. Ikaw yung walking hazard. 'Yung mahilig mangbangga."

"That's—wow, that is _so mean_ and also a complete lie, what the fudge! I was like—nine years old lang no'n! I wasn't a 'mangbabangga'!" 'Ian' scrunched up his face again. He seemed to have a thing for distorting his face, which did look funny, at least.

"Okay fine. _Nangbangga._ Once lang. Hindi recurring."

"Sungit."

"Dapat ba laging mabait?"

This 'Ian' suddenly laughed. For some reason. Even when Paolo wasn't even trying to be amusing.

"Sige na, una na ako, may bibilhin pa. It was… nice? Seeing you… old schoolmate."

"Grabe, the rumors were right; you're such a mean person pala talaga. Why would there be doubt?! Shouldn't it just be like, ' _aww it was nice seeing you,'_ period! Like, for me I think it was also nice naman?? That I saw you today? Since it's been a while na???"

"Oo na, nice na. It was nice seeing you."

"Ooh, okay I see. People have to like, force the compliments out of you."

"Makulit ka lang."

"Ewan ko sa'yo," 'Ian' huffed. The inner office door opened, and out came Ban. 'Ian' stood up immediately and smiled at Paolo, his grumpiness gone. "But it was good seeing you nga. Oh and good luck din sa St. Mary's."

_Aa. Naka-uniform pa nga pala ako. Hindi naman s'ya stalker._

"Good luck din sa St. Jude's."

"No, no, I transferred na. To the Ateneo."

"Aa."

"Yeah. Uhm… yeah."

"…Sige bye na."

"Yeah! Yeah. Bye."

Paolo returned 'Ian's' wave with a tiny one of his own as he pushed the heavy glass door open. He looked back just as the door closed, watching as the boy approached the counter. Already he was talking so animatedly with his hands.

Paolo didn't ask for his name then five years ago, and he didn't ask for it now as well, but he got it anyway.

Ian Pangilinan. _Yung mahilig mangbangga._

Okay.

  
  
  


* * *

Paolo sat down in the food court with his order of siomai. His phone beeped nonstop at the slew of messages coming in the moment he connected to the free internet. After a second's hesitation, he opened the search bar on Facebook.

_Ian Pangilinan_

The third result had a photo with the same face he saw earlier.

_Ateneo nga.  
_

He closed the tab seconds after and opened his email instead.

_Same school naman kami once. Madali lang hanapin, kung kailangan._

_Not that kailangan._

_Ba't ko naman ia-add, porke nakasalubong lang? 'Di ka stalker, Paolo. Itigil mo 'yan._

* * *

A different person was manning the shop when Paolo returned after two hours. He handed over the claim stub, along with a fifty-peso bill. And because he couldn't wait, he sat down at the waiting area and immediately opened the envelope given to him.

Majority of the photos came out too dark like Ban had warned. There were vague shadows of people and maybe a beach in the background of some of them but they really weren't clear enough for Paolo to recognise anything. But when he arrived at the bottom of the pile—

_Teka. Ano 'to?_

Paolo didn't own blue bedsheets. He didn't have a yellow ceiling. He didn't own a grey laptop.

And that was definitely not his hand holding that pen.

He didn't even _buy_ that particular brand of pen.

"Uhm. Ate? Ito po ba talaga yung sa'kin? Hindi po kaya nahalo sa iba?"

"Akin na, check natin. Mali ba yung USB na naibalik sa iyo?"

"Hindi po USB, ate. Nagpa-develop po ako."

"Ay film nga… sandali… parang wala namang ibang pumasok… wala nga. Ikaw yung nag-iisang nagpa-develop ng film ngayon. Tugma rin naman dito sa negatives… wait lang ha, confirm ko sa loob."

She didn't bother closing the inner door, so Paolo was able to hear them clearly.

"Psst Peng, may dinevelop ka bang personal kanina? Or may nagpasadya ba? Mali daw yung pics na natanggap nung customer. Baka may na-mix up or something."

"Nope, my desk is clear. Kahapon pa nga tayo walang developing jobs, nag-iisa talaga 'yan."

_Shet. So ano nangyari dun sa mga picture ng kwarto ko?_

"Baka mali yung nabigay mo sa'min na rolyo?"

"Aa… baka nga. Napag-tripan siguro ako ng kabarkada ko. Ate, magkano po ba ang isang roll ng film? Yung mumurahin lang, mga pang-toy camera levels ba?"

"May 12 shots na 160. 200 naman yung 27 shots. Meron din kaming 36 na 250 pesos."

_Ang mahal talaga. Paolo, wag na kasi. 'Di ka naman burgis para sa luho na 'yan._

"Sige po, salamat na lang."

_'Di ka burgis tulad nung Atenistang Ian na may special film roll order pang nalalaman._

* * *

Paolo laid out all twenty four photos on his bed. He sorted them into two piles: the one on the left had fourteen photos—all of them dark and shadowed and barely visible. Maybe that was a beach. Or the sea. There was a boy wearing what could be a neon blue jacket, hence it being more visible than the rest. The jacket looked like it was floating—maybe the boy was jumping and posing mid-air?

No matter how much Paolo squinted, it was just impossible to see anything. Maybe if he scanned the photos and adjusted them on his laptop then _maybe,_ but that was… too much effort, really.

The second pile had the remaining nine. They were brighter, and clearer. As though they were taken in a brightly lit bedroom just like his own.

Because the bedroom definitely wasn't Paolo's.

He scrutinized each photo closely. The angles were all… strange? Unlike Paolo who had tried to focus his shots earlier on specific items, these photos looked like the person was moving (or even rolling) around while randomly pressing the shutter.

A yellow ceiling.

Bare toes on floorboards.

The edge of a grey laptop with black keys.

Fingers grasping a red inked pen and in the middle of making circles on what looks like sheet music.

Light blue bed sheets.

Another shot of the sheet music, with the line: _measure your life in love,_ underlined twice and with 'love' encircled, now readable.

A close-up of a wrist wearing two bands of (strangely familiar) brown beads, with the same yellow ceiling in the background.

A different sheet of paper with the logo of Ateneo High School stamped on it, yesterday's date scribbled at the upper right corner.

And lastly, a very blurred shot of a hand turning a door knob.

Paolo always tried his best to keep the cursing down, especially when he's at home. His mother had never chastised him for it yes, but her brows do frown in disapproval. So he would censor himself most of the time out of respect for her. But now, as he stared at these pictures?

_So, assuming na eto talaga ang laman nung roll na 'yon… ano 'to?! May multong ginagago ako? Punyeta sana pinangbili ko na lang ng overpriced na kape di ba, nainom ko pa._

On a whim, he started arranging the nine photos in 'order'. Maybe whoever this person from Ateneo was started out studying the sheet music on their desk while armed with a red pen. Maybe they got tired and collapsed on their bed with blue sheets and—rolled around, probably, to stare at the ceiling. Then they left the room soon after.

_So ano 'to. Feeling storyteller ka na._

Paolo grabbed the photo with the sheet music again, and googled the lyrics written there on his phone. He ended up on Youtube and soon enough, the opening chords to _Seasons of Love_ from RENT began to play.

He played the song again when it ended.

His own laptop was on the other end of the bed; Paolo reached for it and queued a torrent for the film. And a torrent for the soundtrack.

_Sakto, pang mamaya._

He stared at the pictures again, wondering what to do with them. Especially that one particular photo that didn't fit either of the piles. It wasn't as encased in shadow as the beach photos, and it wasn't as bright as the mystery bedroom's. It was more… dim. But warmer in color. Like the sunset was filtering in past thin curtains. There was a table, its deep brown varnish glinting. At the edge of the shot were several pairs of wooden webbed feet—from ducks, maybe—lined up neatly. The main focus of the picture though, was an opened blue tin can of butter cookies.

Paolo took the photo in his hand. He kept staring. And staring. And staring at it. It felt like he was forgetting something. It felt like he should know where this picture was taken. It felt like he himself was the one who took it. That this photo, out of all the rest, being the one that felt most familiar was both strange and fitting.

_Bakit ako sigurado na ako ang kumuha nito? At kung ako nga—kelan? Saan? Teka, ano yung nasa gilid, tungkod ba 'yon, o—_

"Paolo! Kakain na!"

Paolo blinked.

"Opo Ma, pababa na!"

He slid all the photos back in the envelope without looking at them. He grabbed the camera and hopped off the bed.

_Sa'n na, sa'n na… ayun. Sa gilid._

Not too gently, he placed both items in the box messily labeled 'childhood shit'.

"Paolo!"

"And'yan na po!"

The bedroom door slammed close. The camera tumbled down to the bottom of the pile. Again. Not so hidden, but so easy to miss.

As always.

As it liked to do.


	3. &twenty

Because just like that, suddenly—Paolo remembers.

* * *

"Pao? What's wrong? Namutla ka bigla."

His fork clattered down on his plate. Paolo wasn't always home in time for dinner—having a free evening when he's neck-deep in college obligations was rare enough as it was that actually being able to eat here with his mom was always a special treat.

But his appetite had disappeared in an instant. He stared blankly at the blue tupperware of mango float on the table but in his head, he saw a different blue container instead: one that was made of tin, and was filled with butter cookies.

All he wanted to do right now was to go upstairs and find a particular old box in his bedroom.

"Wala, Ma. May naalala lang ako na isusubmit bukas."

Paolo picked up his fork again. He was having dinner with his mother—anything and everything else could wait.

* * *

Just like five years ago, Paolo laid out all twenty four photos in two piles on his bed. The one with the butter cookies he kept in the middle. And just like then, he still had no answers. Yes, he now remembered being ten a decade ago and entering a stranger's house _just like that,_ but that didn't explain any of this. _At all._

_Pucha. Nanay Ingga naman, ano ba kasi 'tong binigay mo sa'kin? Nadapa lang naman ako sa tapat ng bahay n'yo._

He needed to find her. And ask her. He needed to return this camera to her.

But he had absolutely no time at all to do so.

He had papers and quizzes and training practices that lasted until midnight. Paolo was exhausted, and he barely even had the spare energy to think about haunted cameras of all things.

His nail found the switch that opened the camera. Empty. He snapped it back into place then pressed the shutter.

_Dami mo pa aaralin, Paolo._

He gathered all the photos again and returned them to the envelope, then zipped it securely in the inside pocket of his bag. He'll find a pouch for the camera later; his paper won't write itself.

* * *

Paolo opened his eyes. Not even two seconds after: _Putangina._

Right there on top of his notes on Biomechanics was a new photo: a page off of a math textbook. A math that was completely different from the one he'd been trying to process all evening.

No.

_Ano 'to, dahil napindot ko yung shutter kaya may bago?_

He had no time to think about this. It was three in the morning and he'd just woken up from a nap. He had to be on campus in three hours.

Paolo turned over the photo so he wouldn't see it, and continued studying.

* * *

Inquiring minds always need to know, and Paolo wasn't always patient. He experimented with the camera over the following days and found out several things:

One: whether with film or without—it will never take a photo of what Paolo himself is seeing;

Two: film + developing is still expensive ( _goodbye almost three hundred pesos, fuck),_ plus the wait time is longer—don't bother buying at all;

Three: no matter how many times he presses the shutter, not more than three photos will appear per day;

Four: he needs to be actually asleep—and not merely feigning—for said photos to appear;

Five: the camera functions normally—with film or none—if used by someone else.

Twenty additional photos and a month after his memory returning, Paolo finally had a free afternoon to visit—to find—Nanay Ingga.

The market's still there, now expanded. That's where he started retracing his footsteps. He vaguely remembered where the bakery was; he bought ten pieces of spanish bread because he was resolute as a child to bring her some.

Two turns away from the bakery. The house was at the end of the street. There was a creek nearby, maybe. It should be simple enough.

It was not simple enough.

Half an hour of walking here and there and still Paolo had not found any sign of Nanay Ingga's house. He'd asked four different people and they gave him four different directions and none of them led to her.

_Puro kabilang kanto, puro kabilang kanto, puro naman mali. Umuwi na lang kaya ako?_

Paolo took a sip from his bottle of mineral water.

"Hinahanap mo raw ako."

The water goes down the wrong pipe and Paolo nearly choked.

"'Nay Ingga?" Paolo managed to say in between coughs.

That was her house. That's her house behind him. The same house, from the overgrown plants to the narrow pathway and yellowing walls. Nanay Ingga looked him up from head to toe. She was still stooped and frail-looking and small. She would probably only reach his waist now. She had her cane in one hand and a green watering can in the other—an elephant with its nose for the spout.

"'Buti naman at tumangkad ka."

_Inay, ba't parang handa s'yang mangagat ngayon._

She raised an eyebrow, as though she heard his thoughts.

"Pahinga ka muna sa loob. Pawis na pawis ka na." She turned around and began to walk slowly up the path. Paolo hesitated and stared at the empty street around him.

" … Baka po hindi na lang, mabilis lang naman po yung tanong ko."

Nanay Ingga's already raised eyebrow went even higher, as though asking him if he really wanted to stay out there under the scorching sun while he asked his questions—if he really would dare inflict on _her_ that continued discomfort.

"Sige, para matahimik ka. Sa paglabas mo sa bahay ko mamaya, wala kang ibang bagong bitbit kundi sagot sa mga katanungan mo. Walang iba."

Just like before, she didn't bother to wait for his answer. The screen door closed behind her before Paolo made his decision.

_Nandito ka na rin na, jusko ituloy mo na. 'Di ka naman n'ya siguro kakainin._

Paolo removed his shoes by the door. _Pahingahan ng mga naiwan_ was still embroidered on the rug.

"Hindi ako nangangain ng tao."

"'Nay naman, tinatakot n'yo ko lalo e. 'Wag nyo naman basahin utak ko."

"Hindi ako marunong bumasa ng isip ng iba. Halata lang sa mukha mo."

" _Inay._ "

"Seryoso ka pa rin masyado."

"Ano po ba kasi yung binigay n'yong kamera sa'kin? Bakit may nakasapi?" Paolo sat down on the couch beside her and placed the bag of spanish bread on the table.

"Walang nakasapi. May gusto lang sa'yo ipakita."

"Buhay ng ibang tao? Ano yun, para lang akong nangboboso sa buhay ng may buhay?"

"Hindi lang basta kung sinong tao."

"Po?"

"Yung nakatakda sa'yo."

Paolo loved reading novels, he always had, ever since he was a kid. And in almost every novel he encountered, he would always come across some version of the phrase: _he froze in terror_ or _a chill ran down his spine._

It wasn't until now that he understood what that meant.

"Lahat ng nandito sa bahay ko—lahat ng yan na nakikita mo, puro mga bagay na nawala. Naiwan. Mga aksidenteng nakalimutan. Mga bagay na maliit lamang o wala lang sa mata ng iba pero sa mga nagmay-ari sa kanila—meron silang importansya. Minahal sila."

Paolo felt his throat dry up. Nanay Ingga suddenly looked every year of her undeterminable age as she stroked the back of the cat sleeping beside her.

"At dahil ang mga bagay na iyan ay hindi na makababalik sa mga nagmay-ari sa kanila—sino pang iba ang pwede nilang hanapin, kung hindi yung nakatakda para sa dating nagmahal sa kanila? Nagkataon lang, na kamera ang tumawag sa iyo. Kaya nakakaya n'yang ipakita ang mundo ng taong iyon."

Paolo swallowed. His throat was so dry. _Gusto ko nang magmura sa tuwing sasabihin n'ya ang salitang 'nakatakda.'_ "Ang bata ko pa po nun. Alam na n'ya agad?"

"Nakatakda nga, di ba? Walang pinipiling edad 'yon."

Paolo took a deep breath. And another. He was wearing khaki shorts today, and so his nails dug into his knee directly.

"Galit ka."

"Medyo po."

"Bakit?"

"Kasi—kasi para n'yo na ring sinabi na kahit anong desisyon gawin ko, kahit sino pang mahalin ko, kung hindi 'yon patungo sa direksyon nung tao na dinikta ng lecheng kamera na 'yon…"

"Galit ka."

"Opo, Nanay Ingga. Galit na galit ako."

"Hmmm. Ang iba, matutuwa na malaman na may nakatakdang tao para sa kanila."

"Mas gusto kong mahalin yung pinili ko."

"Dahil lang ba tinakda, hindi mo na pipiliin? Magpapabulag ka sa galit mo?"

Paolo looked away. He opened his backpack and took out the camera and held it out to Nanay Ingga. "Wala na po akong pag-gagamitan nyan."

"Hindi ko kukunin sa'yo. Iwanan mo, kung gusto mo."

He suddenly hated this camera with all his being but he hated all the more that he couldn't put it down. He hated that his fingers still clenched tight this cheap plastic device that has both confused and stolen his memory over the years.

"Bakit po ngayon ko lang kayo naalala? Bakit ako nakalimot?"

"Marahil dahil masyado ka pa ngang bata." Nanay Ingga sighed as the cat moved its head to rest on her hand. "Lahat nang nagagawi dito, may kanya-kanyang kwento."

Paolo could feel her scrutiny.

"Hindi ba't sinabi ko sa'yo, na ang bayad sa kamera na 'yan ay masasaktan ka?"

"Nanay Ingga naman e, iba naman ang galit sa sakit e."

"Hindi ba masakit na malaman mo na wala kang kontrol sa buhay mo? Hindi ba iyon masakit sa puso mo?"

_Ayoko na._

Paolo stood up. He grabbed his still open backpack and hated himself for still shoving the camera back inside. He tugged on the zipper hard then slung the bag over his shoulder.

"Sana po magustuhan n'yo yung spanish bread. Mauna na po ako, may practice pa ako mamaya."

"Aantayin ko ang sunod mong bisita," was the last thing Paolo heard before he let the screen door slam close.

* * *

For the next two weeks, Paolo took three shots a day with no fail. He did so at different times, and again, without fail, he woke up to three new photos on his desk every morning. He stared at them apathetically. He didn't care about the textbooks or the blurred faces of their friends, or the inner layout of their school library. He didn't care about the insides of their closet or what they had for dinner.

All Paolo wanted was a single photo of whoever this person was looking at the mirror. He wanted to know their _face._ He wanted to commit it to memory and avoid them the moment their paths crossed.

But Paolo was never that lucky. Never did he get a single shot with their face, not even one whiff of their name scribbled anywhere. For all that the photos showed a glimpse of how this person saw the world—it was always blurred and shaky, apparently—there was very little Paolo could use if he truly wanted to find them.

He sustained that anger, for the entirety of those two weeks. He had almost fifty photos on his bed by the end of it—and all of them came out black and white, like some poetic metaphor of him being so angry with the universe he had ceased to see colour.

_Magpapabulag ka ba sa galit mo?_

Was it so bad, knowing there was one person out there for him?

Wasn't it so fucking depressing, knowing he would basically be all sad and alone and discontent with anyone he fell in love with unless it was with that particular person?

Why did he have to know that ultimately, he didn't have a choice?

He gathered all the photos; it was like one endless cycle, him laying them all out in his bed and sorting them into piles and then gathering them up again—over and over, with no new answers every single time.

He kept taking the photos and he kept keeping every single one of them after.

Except for one: there was one shot that was almost similar to what he needed. This person was in the shower, and Paolo could see a blurry reflection of their wet body at the glass door. Their _face_ —the one detail Paolo needed—remained unseen.

Paolo had torn the photo in half and set it on fire immediately.

The photos were voyeuristic enough as it is—he wasn't going to violate them like this, nor let anyone else accidentally see it.

It was bad enough that the memory of it remained in Paolo's head, rent-free.

* * *

Paolo perused the shelves carefully, going over each title one-by-one. He had the newest Rick Riordan book in his arm, and was looking for another title he was missing in the series. He loved this branch of Fully Booked, with its numerous floors and window areas perfect for reading. Bending down a bit so he could see the lower shelf better, Paolo hummed under his breath.

And then someone bumped into him from behind.

"Sorry, sorry—I didn't see you."

"It's fine." Paolo turned around to assure the other person with a smile on his face when—

No.

It can't be.

Again?

What's the name of this guy again who shared his surname?

He wasn't paying attention to Paolo anymore, the apology he uttered probably not even sincere and merely automatic because he had resumed mumbling under his breath while staring at the opposite shelf.

"Actually no," Paolo started, schooling his face into a full-on _I'm the superior bitch here_ mode as he raised an eyebrow at this guy. "It's not fine. Full offense. Walking hazard ka pa rin after all these years."

"What the hell—" the other guy— _what was his name?—_ had this incredulous look on his face before it turned into recognition. "OH. Wait! You're—St. Jude! Camera! The disposable camera guy!"

"Wow. Thank you ha. Ang creative."

"Well that's better than calling someone a walking hazard."

"Did I lie though."

"Well, I mean—" the guy burst out laughing. It was both familiar and endearing, how he still laughed so easily even without prompting or any effort from Paolo. "Sorry, sorry—pero I genuinely don't know your name kasi, that's why I keep calling you camera guy."

"I don't know your name rin naman."

"Ian. Ian Pangilinan. Hi." This Ian really held out his hand for a handshake, what the fuck. What was this, a business meeting? Couldn't they just smile and maybe awkwardly wave their hands at each other like the semi-acquaintances that they were?

"Handshake talaga? Sige. Okay. I'm Paolo Pangilinan and it's a pleasure to meet you, finally, person who shares my surname and happens to be a walking hazard."

"I think I would rather be a walking hazard than be an innately mean person like you."

"It ain't mean if I ain't lying."

"You're so fucking hilarious, man."

"I don't exist for your entertainment, _bro._ "

Ian merely laughed harder, in a volume that was probably bordering on inappropriate in a bookstore/semi-library place like this. Paolo didn't find his laughter offensive, surprisingly. He wasn't laughing _at_ Paolo, but _because_ of him.

"You know what, I just realized something. This is literally like, our third interaction _ever_. It's so weird lang? That I've technically known you since I was 9 but like, have only talked to you three times."

"Yes, and binangga mo ako every single time."

"Ohmy _god_ let it go na!"

"Ayaw."

"Maaa, his sungit levels are just—so up there, man. Sobrang unreachable po."

Their phones beeped at the same time. They looked down and typed their replies, both at the same time.

"Hey, I gotta—"

"Alis na ako—"

Ian's laughter was muted this time, and Paolo was more generous with his smile. But Ian was looking at him closely, and Paolo asked 'why?' with a raised eyebrow.

"I kinda feel like I should ask for your number na or something but then I'm kinda curious din to see if it will take like, five years again before I see you ulit."

It's Paolo who laughed this time.

"Alam mo, sa totoo lang. Curious din ako. Sige, kapag nagkita tayo ulit before five years, promise mabait na ako."

"Sige, sige. I'll hold you to that ha. And no stalking!"

"Pfft, ikaw nga mas may reason mang-stalk. Gusto mo ko maging mabait e."

"Actually… ang funny talaga when you're being mean."

_Puta. Ang landi pala nito._

Paolo's phone beeped again—a savior in disguise.

"Sige na, sige na. See you in five years, mister walking hazard."

"See you in five years, sir sungit."

* * *

Paolo took one last photo that night, the last one he would allow himself to take until he gave in again the following year. The picture, when he saw it the next day, wasn't anything special. It was still the same desk, with two opened math books and the edge of a grey laptop. Fingers were caught probably mid-drumming on the pages. It was still black and white.

It joined the rest of the photos inside the plastic sleeve that still lived inside his box marked 'childhood shit'. The camera though, he kept inside the drawer of his desk.

(He never noticed how there, right in the upper corner of the photo where part of a tumbler was caught in the shot—

He never noticed how the tumbler was visibly colored blue.)

  
  



	4. &twenty-five

On a purely outside perspective, it does—and should've from the very start, actually—make a lot of sense.

* * *

It started, this time, with a Zoom call.

Paolo agreed to return and throw lines with one of the people auditioning. He did not expect to see _his_ face of all people on the screen.

Gege immediately picked up on their wide eyes and the fact that Ian—that was his name, right? It was Ian—was biting on his lower lip so hard to contain his smile.

"Magkakilala kayo?"

"Hindi naman. Mag-schoolmate lang nung elementary," Paolo answered. Ian added his agreement quietly while scratching his nose.

"Aa. Mag-schoolmate."

Paolo would be suspicious of Gege's tone of voice, but well—Gege was always suspicious anyway, even on a regular day.

The next bit of audition goes well without a hitch. It ended with smiles all around and positive feedback and the _what-if_ in Paolo's gut evolving to a solid _I have a good feeling about this._

He received a notification from Instagram ten minutes after the Zoom meeting ended, for a reply to his most recent IG story, saying:

 _Hoy counted yon! You have no choice but to be nice na_ 😊

He wasn't going to bother to reply, but well. It wasn't five years yet, and he did promise to be nice.

🤗

There. That's nice enough.

It started with a Zoom call.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

* * *

It starts too, in a way, with a pair of misplaced scissors.

Ian has this thing where he tends to keep a lowkey commentary going on, just mumbling to himself about anything or everything without expecting any input from the other person—Paolo, in this case. It's never loud enough to be distracting, but that steady stream of words merely reaffirms his presence.

"Yeah okay this isn't going to work—Pao, I need scissors. Where's your scissors?"

"Sa desk, check mo," Paolo answers without his quick typing on the laptop breaking its pace. The bed dips as Ian leaves, and Paolo hears him humming while he checks the containers scattered around the table.

Paolo hears the drawer open.

"Awww! Paaaooo! Is this the same camera? It _is_ right? I remember na it looked like the one I lost when I was a kid."

Paolo stops typing and stares as Ian.

"Is it still working? May film bang laman? Let's use it, let's use it!"

Ian's words loop in Paolo's head like some cursed mantra: _it looked like the one I lost when I was a kid._

"Walang laman."

"Okay, okay I'll get you some rolls next time." Ian opens the back of the camera to peek inside, then closes it again. "Actually. Let me check, baka naman we can get some delivered here bukas."

_Marami namang ganyang klaseng kamera. Hindi naman yan nag-iisa. Baka kamukha lang talaga nung dating kanya._

"Huh. That's weird." He's pointing the camera at Paolo, posed as though he's about to shoot a photo.

"What's weird?"

"I wasn't the only one to get a camera kasi then. Pati sila kuya and ate. And they all looked the same. So I was like, paranoid na our cameras would get exchanged. And being the smart six—seven? I think seven nga. Being the super smart seven year old that I was, I stole a safety pin from yaya's things and I carved an 'I' right here—" Ian tilts the camera so Paolo can see the bottom. "So every time I used it, I'd feel for it with my thumb and then I'd know na it was mine talaga."

"So you're saying since may gasgas din yan, therefore old camera mo yan?"

" _No._ I'm saying, na aww look may gasgas din sya like my old camera! And I think it's cute." He returns the camera to where he found it, and continues to rummage around the drawer. "Paooo, I still can't find your scissors!"

Paolo can almost hear his heart pounding. Surely the scratch is a mere coincidence. Surely he's just overthinking and being paranoid himself over this camera that he really should've thrown away a long time ago—

Ian bursts out laughing again, too loud and too full, as always. In his hand is a photo merely a week old that Paolo forgot to hide away.

"Luh. Ano 'to, the fans took a screenshot of me walking Ariana back in that old Kumu thing then they printed it and sent it to you? Why naman this? Ariana has like, way better angles!"

_Puta ka. Puta ka Paolo Victor. Si Ariana nga 'yon._

_Picture nga ni Ariana 'yon._

* * *

Screen test day.

It was screen test day, finally, and Paolo was lost. Granted, he was being lost with Gege, and pushing the blame on Gege for their lateness would be easy.

If they could find the right building, that is.

Gege switched to making a call over texting to get clearer directions. Paolo looked around with his hands in pockets, trying to shake away both the familiar and unfamiliar blend of nervousness and excitement that settled on his shoulders.

He'll be fine. It'll be fine.

It's just another step in the audition process.

He would meet his potential co-actor today, and hopefully, _hopefully,_ all goes well.

Nothing was set in stone yet, but hopefully. _Hopefully._

Hopefully.

Huh.

Huh.

Recognition came easily—despite the mask, despite the cap, despite the huge bag.

And because they had a deal, because Paolo promised to be nice if their paths crossed again before the set five years—

Paolo approached Ian first, this time.

From behind though, because he wasn't _that_ nice.

"Ayan ha, hindi kita binangga. Hindi ako tulad mo na walking hazard."

Ian turned quickly in surprise.

"Every five years lang daw ako pwede mangbangga," Ian said, laughing.

"Hey, Paolo."

"Hi, Ian."

"Guys, sa third floor daw tayo." They both turned towards the direction of Gege's voice. Someone else had arrived to lead them upstairs.

His nerves settled. They headed for the escalators as Paolo laughed at Ian being dropped off at the wrong street and having to sprint from two blocks away.

Paolo laughed and smiled a lot that afternoon. Ian too. The crew urged them on and it made Paolo push harder and for Ian to push back just as much and none of their tasks were easy—

But it was made easier, somehow, because it was Ian sitting beside him and Ian's eyes he was staring into and Ian in front of him giving and taking and demanding and answering.

Paolo was struggling and trying to keep up with what everyone was asking from him but—

He was giddy. He was excited.

And he really had a good feeling about this.

* * *

That he truly got the role of Karl only began to sink in slowly, ever so gradually, the day he moved into Gege's apartment.

Ian lightly punched him on the shoulder twice as he walked past Paolo, his own bag full of clothes slung over his shoulder.

Paolo was still giddy, and still excited, but it would be a lie to say he wasn't fucking terrified too, of the long road ahead in being Karl. Ian looked back at him, his eyes seemingly asking, _what's wrong? Tara na sa taas._

Paolo exhaled and smiled back. He pulled on his own suitcase, and followed Ian upstairs.

* * *

_"Okay, you gotta admit though, this whole thing's like—it's kinda fucking creepy, man! Like, seriously, what the fuck."_

Paolo believes in confronting things head on. He believes in getting shitty conversations over with _fast_ —no dodging, no small talks, no beating around the bush. Rip off the duct tape in one go, as they say.

And so he told Ian the whole story earlier, in one go:

"Ian."

"Yeah, Pao?"

"Ian, tingnan mo ko."

"Hm?" Ian finally looked up, a bit confused.

Paolo slid over the edge of the bed. "When I was ten, I met this old lady, named Nanay Ingga—" he knelt on the floor and reached underneath for his box marked 'childhood shit'. "And she gave me that camera." Grunting, Paolo pulled out the box and opened it. He grabbed three plastic sleeves full of photos and threw them on the bed. "It takes really weird photos, to the point na akala ko possessed s'ya."

"Wait, by possessed do you mean—"

"Let me finish."

"O… kay."

"Apparently—everytime I click on the shutter, it takes a picture of what my soulmate is currently seeing. Yes. Soulmate. As in that kind of soulmate. Who is the original owner of the camera. S'ya daw soulmate ko. Yung may-ari nito." Paolo upended the sleeve containing the oldest of the photos on the bed and dug through it until he found the one he had in mind.

Ian sat on the bed again and leaned closer, curious to see what the photos were.

Paolo held one up for Ian to see. It was a too-dark picture of a boy wearing a neon blue jacket. "Kilala mo ba 'to?"

Ian took the photo and squinted.

Then he burst out laughing.

"Holy shit _that's me!_ I remember this! And that fucking horrendous raincoat—I like, literally glowed in the dark whenever I wore it, I super hated it, pero I got lost a lot as a kid kaya ayan, mom bought it for me. Alam ko 'to—this was literally like just before I lost my camera; I told Ate to take a jump shot of me and I dunno, pero naiwan ko yung camera dun sa restaurant. Man, I was crying the entire night."

"Aa. I see."

"Where'd you even get this, I mean— _wait_ , so you're saying—"

"Hi. Breaking news: ikaw pala soulmate ko. Confirmed, as of five minutes ago. According sa camera na 'yan. Na sa'yo pala dati." Paolo took out the rest of the photos from their envelopes and they made a messy pile on the bed. "Puro ikaw yan. Ten years na pala akong stalker mo."

He was looking at Ian's face but he wasn't really seeing it. His heart was pounding so loudly and so fiercely it felt like his entire body was vibrating.

"Ian."

"… yes Pao?"

"Nakatakda daw tayo."

" _Luh."_

* * *

Paolo didn't bring the camera with him when he moved into Gege's house. It was easy to forget about the camera's existence during all those months—from the workshops and rehearsals and shooting, even throughout the airing of the series itself and the roll of opportunities that came with it and after it.

It was easy to ignore how—like the string of ex-boyfriends he'd had before—Ian might not be the one the photos led to. It was easy to forget that just like those relationships, this one too might be doomed from the start. This one too might eventually end.

It was so easy to ignore and forget and pretend that there was no one else out there, waiting. That there was no mystery person whose identity haunted him.

It was so easy to love Ian, and Paolo didn't hold himself back. Not this time.

* * *

Ian is still laughing.

Paolo belatedly notices that Ian is turning red, that he's wiping tears from his eyes, and that he's constantly repeating the words _what the fuck_ and _luh._

He doesn't get it—what's even so funny about being _soulmates._

"Pao."

"Paopao."

" _P_ _aolo._ "

Paolo looks up, and Ian is in front of him, still flushed but more serious now, as he stares at him intently. He shows Paolo both his hands, his eyes familiarly asking, _may I?_

Paolo exhales loudly and nods.

Ian places both his hands on Paolo's shoulders and squeezes firmly.

"You gotta breathe for me, Paopao."

_Ano nga yung sabi ni Nanay Ingga? Kung nasasaktan ka at naduduwag: huminga ka._

Paolo inhales deeply, and directs a small smile at Ian on the exhale.

"You zoned out a bit on me there. You good?"

"Truthfully? Ewan."

Ian squeezes his shoulders again. "You're panicking over this soulmate-thing."

" _Of course?_ I mean—nakatakda daw tayo? And you're still being so calm about this??"

"Okay, Pao—here's the thing. Alam mo, ikaw— _first of all_ —that's not how you spring on someone na they're your soulmate, what the fuck, _gago ka ba._ "

"What."

"Asan ang candlelit dinner ko?! Wala man lang love song playing, or like a full moon up in the sky, or view deck, or I dunno—a romantic picnic under the stars while you profess your undying devotion—"

"Puta ka rin talaga ano." Paolo hits Ian on the shoulder. Hard. That sets off Ian again as he falls down and lands on the photos, his laughter loud and sincere.

"I mean, Pao—what were you even expecting? Did you think I'd get _mad_?!"

"Ako, galit ako!"

"Na ako soulmate mo?"

"Hindi, na may soulmate ako!"

Ian sits up again and wipes his eyes. "Okay fine. Let's unpack your issues, Mr. Pangilinan. It would've been better if we were doing this with alcohol and no 7am call time tomorrow, but it's fine, we'll manage. We've been through worse."

Paolo hits him again. Ian tangles their hands together instead and hauls them both up the bed so they can lean against the headboard. He doesn't even glance at the pictures—like there wasn't a mountain of violations on the invasion of his privacy right there on the mattress.

"Okay. Let me see if I understood your story. When you were ten, you met Nanay Ingga—who is she though? _What_ is she actually?"

"Ewan. Lola na nagtatago ng mga bagay na nawala. Ata."

"So my lost camera mysteriously made its way to her. Tapos she just gave it to you?"

"More like—parang tinawag ako. Hinawakan ko yung camera tapos ayaw ko nang bitawan."

"Yiiieee ayaw nya 'ko bitawan."

" _Gago._ "

"Huh. Wait. So when we met at St. Jude's, you were 'looking' for me na no'n?"

"I don't think so. Nakalimutan ko yung buong encounter with Nanay Ingga, e. Five years ago ko lang naalala."

"Okay, you gotta admit though, this whole thing's like—it's kinda fucking creepy, man! Like, seriously, what the fuck."

" _Kaya nga._ Ewan ko ba why you're not freaking out. Ikaw yung overthinker 'di ba."

"Wow, thank you. But yeah, true naman." Ian squeezes Paolo's hand, his thumb stroking absentmindedly along the back of his palm. "So you only realized kanina that it was me pala?"

"Nakilala mo agad si Ariana dun sa picture e. And napaisip ako na, shet, si Ariana nga. And it just—made sense. With all the other pictures. It made sense na ikaw nga yung andun."

"Can I just say na I'm offended you didn't recognize Ariana."

"I'll say sorry with steak next bisita ko sa kanya."

"As you should."

"Ba't mas offended ka pa for Ariana—hindi ka offended na 'di kita nakilala?"

Ian grabs a random photo from the pile and scrutinizes it. "Do I expect you to recognize me from just my hands showing? I would be so fucking creeped out if you did."

"Maybe if I brought the camera with me kina-Gege."

"Nah, it was better you didn't."

"Hindi better na alam na natin agad sa start pa lang?"

Ian turns to face him. He's doing that thing again where he stares at Paolo like he sees nothing else—that nothing and no one else is worth his attention and time and focus other than Paolo who is right there in front of him.

It never gets easy, meeting Ian's gaze when he does that. And even when Paolo looks away, even when Paolo breaks the gaze—there's a palpable weight to his stare that always settles over Paolo; it can be heavy and suffocating and too much, but Paolo relishes it. He preens under it.

No one else gets that gaze directed at them. Only Paolo, and no one else.

"You don't mind being soulmates with me," Ian says, matter-of-fact.

"Of course I don't. I'm relieved that it's you."

"It's the _idea_ of soulmates that's bothering you."

"I hate it."

"Why?"

_Bakit nga ba?_

"Hate's a strong word, Paopao."

"Hindi ba nakakabwisit? Ako lang ba? Isn't it—so unfair, this idea na you're destined to be with one specific person? Lahat ng ibang minahal mo, lahat ng ibang pwede mo pang mahalin—it's like everyone else is just a big waste of your time because unless they're your soulmate, the relationship is doomed from the start."

"Why are you so focused on the ending?"

"Because it _will_ eventually end. Sa isa lang hindi. That's what being soulmates means, 'di ba?"

"But you're only thinking that way because you basically cheated in this like, relationship exam. You were given this, I dunno, _kodigo_ that would lead you to the right person. You just didn't figure it out in time."

"Doesn't this cheapen what we have? Doesn't this make _us_ somewhat… manufactured?"

"Did you just equate our relationship to companies guilty of unfair labor practices."

" _Iaaan._ "

"Kidding. I get what you mean naman. Because like, I think the reason why I'm not overthinking all of this and you are—and this is just how I see it ha—" Ian covers their tangled hands with his free one. "I tend to overthink kasi because I feel too much. My feelings just—overflow and they end up making me question and doubt pretty much everything. But what those feelings _are_ remain clear. They don't get muddled, and they don't change. Whereas you—you're thinking too much to the point that what you believe is logical and rational is overpowering what you feel."

Paolo shuts his eyes for a few seconds, and he feels Ian's calloused thumb stroking his cheekbone. He opens them to Ian with this small smile on his face and the fondest of expressions directed at him.

"The way I see it—this discovery of yours just means that we have a better fighting chance than others. That we won't get tired of each other as easily, that we won't give up just like that. Fights happen naman talaga, and even break-ups. That we're 'soulmates' just makes me believe in us more."

"I like that. I like believing in us."

"Pao. Minahal kitang hindi ko 'to alam. Minahal mo rin naman akong hindi mo alam. So like, what's the issue, right?"

Paolo bites his lower lip. _Oo nga naman. Hindi naman nagbago yung pagmamahal._

"Okay. I get it na. There really is no issue nga. There _shouldn't_ be an issue."

"'Lika nga dito." Ian pulls him in into a hug, and as Paolo rests his cheek on the chest of _his_ person, finally he's able to breathe easily. He just needs to believe in them together. That's what it all comes down to—the barest bones of what they have remains rooted on their utmost belief in each other. In what they have. It doesn't need to be any more complicated than that, soulmates or not.

But they _were_ soulmates. They _are._

"You do know we're going to go through every single one of those photos, right. As in one by one, para we can see how much of a stalker you really were."

"Seven call time bukas."

"And so?"

"Sabi ko nga, iisa-isahin natin yung pictures."

"Do you know why there's a bunch that are all black and white?"

"Ewan. Pero the recent ones naman puro colored na. Not that there's a lot."

"You didn't use the camera na?"

"I didn't want to anymore. Ang hirap. You were here already, and yet the photos reminded me of the uncertainty that the love I have might not last."

"Buti na lang makulit ako. You could've doomed us agad."

"Ay sige po, opo, thank you po sa serbisyo," Paolo huffs.

"By the way, is there a scandalous photo ba, like did you see me naked na pala even before us; _pinagnasahan mo na ba ever since ang katawan ko._ "

Paolo pulls away from the embrace to grab the nearest pillow and slams it straight into Ian's face.

" _Ang halay, puta!_ "


	5. &epilogue

And the confirmation makes it all the more sweeter, to be honest.

* * *

Despite Paolo's many protests, despite his many hesitations—despite his _overthinking_ , he gives in to Ian insisting he meet Nanay Ingga.

"Wag kang hahawak ng kahit ano dun. Baka iba ang tumawag at sumama sa'yo." _Pa'no kung ikaw ang nakatakda sa akin pero hindi pala ako ang nakatakda sa'yo? Posible kaya 'yon?_

"I can't believe I'm the one telling you this pero, it'll be okay, I'm sure of it. I just really want to meet her."

"Gusto mo lang malaman kung isa ba talaga sa mga incarnation n'ya si Gege."

"Hey, my points are _valid_. It's a working theory! Feel ko talaga pareho sila ni Gege!"

They pass by the bakery again. They buy spanish bread again, and Ian adds a dozen ensaymada as well. They make two lefts and one right—and it's Ian who sees her house first this time.

"Is that her?" Ian asks.

Paolo turns around and sure enough there is Nanay Ingga in her rocking chair, smoking a cigarette. She raises her hand to give them a wave.

"Mainit. Pahinga muna kayo sa loob."

Ian is smitten with her. He probably finds this old lady who only comes up to his waist adorable. Paolo on the other hand, can hear his heart pounding in his chest.

Nanay Ingga looks behind her to stare at Paolo. She looks amused.

Paolo still thinks she can read minds.

The screen door closes, and immediately Ian takes the four steps needed to reach the shelf by the landline. He grabs a small toy with a laugh before Paolo can even stop him.

"Ohmygod Francois! I had one like this as a kid din—" he turns the little mechanism at the back, and tinny music begins to play. "He was my favorite Happy Meal toy back then."

Paolo swallows, heart in his throat.

"Favorite ko din s'ya. Kaso nawala ko sa playground yung Francois ko, kahit may pangalan ko na. Araw-araw namin sya hinahanap sa buhangin ni mama for a week, pero we never found him," Paolo whispers too softly for Ian to hear. Nanay Ingga smiles knowingly beside him.

Ian turns over the toy, and it looks like he's reading something scribbled on it. Ian smiles wide, and meets Paolo's eyes.

"Ano, pipiliin mo pa rin ba?"

He remembers a similar question she asked him so many years ago: _Dahil lang ba tinakda, hindi mo na pipiliin?  
_

Paolo doesn't bother to answer her.

His smile is answer enough.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ here is [francois :D](https://i.ibb.co/7pqSgtC/ladyandthetrampmcd17.jpg)

**Author's Note:**

> \+ me, an ian-leaning stan while writing this story: so asan si ian •_•;;;;
> 
> \+ 12k+ words later and i still wasn't able to make them kiss ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ


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